Return of the REMF
(From The Triumph of Strife: an homage to Dante Alighieri and Percy Shelley)

Abroad, of course, the victims daily die
Abandoned by the ones who sealed their fate
From war and chaos refugees would fly

But having not the means they cringe and wait
And pray to prophets profiled in their books
To have it all end earlier than late

Before the very earth goes to the crooks
Who start these wars and leave the poor to fight
Then baldly brag: “It’s better than it looks.”

They’ve made of day an endless nasty night
Who would command although too blessed to serve
Descending on us like some locust blight

These vapid, vain vaqueros slip and swerve
To duck the fight for which they’ve not the nerve

As Dante’s dire De Born holds his own head
At arm’s length like a lantern by its hair
A stain of noise and lies begins to spread

Like smog that chokes the filthy city air
Which poets cannot breathe without a mask
In search of words with more effective flair

How can one answer that which none will ask?
The question of just why the madmen reign
So like the one unequal to his task

Who’s glib gesticulating gab profane
Divides and disunites the cheerless throng.
A heedless, headless, hollow, sleepy thane

Unable to accomplish missions wrong,
He stalls for time and just renames them “long.”

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright 2006-2010